


Real men don't eat more than one quiche

by AnythingButPink



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, PWP, Post-Ipswich, The six deadly 'I's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnythingButPink/pseuds/AnythingButPink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens in Ipswich, stays in Ipswich...</p><p>(or: Why Douglas has never needed to go on a course to learn how to understand people in Ipswich)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real men don't eat more than one quiche

**Author's Note:**

> What could be sexier than Douglas Richardson in his uniform? Douglas and said uniform being dripping wet...

Arthur had disappeared to do _something_ with the remaining 388 quiches. Carolyn was signing her way through a mountain of paperwork in Dr Duncan's office. Douglas had toed off his waterlogged shoes and was struggling to get out of his sodden jacket when Martin appeared in the changing room.

Douglas eyed him balefully over his shoulder, daring the captain to make a joke at his expense, but Martin just stood there, looking pink and anxious.

"What is it, Martin?" said Douglas impatiently.

"Um, I just wanted to thank you for carrying me out of the fuselage earlier, when I er..." Martin studied the toes of his trainers, careful not to let his glance fall on Douglas.

Douglas softened a little, both at the thanks and the memory of his captain's warm lithe body in his arms. "You're welcome, Martin."

He continued to struggle out of his dripping wet jacket, while Martin continued to avert his eyes.

"Damn it!"

Martin looked up. Douglas had got the jacket off his shoulders but appeared to be trapped at the elbows in the stiff wet fabric.

"Umm...would you like some help, Douglas?"

Douglas sighed. "Much as it pains me to admit it. Yes, Martin, I would like some help."

Martin slowly crossed the tiled floor, trying not to look at Douglas's damp tousled hair, or the way his wet shirt clung to his broad smooth back. He bit his lip as his grasped the bulk of the jacket, bunched and stuck on Douglas's elbows and did his best to ignore the shiver of desire that ran through him.

He quickly realised that tugging the jacket down wasn't an option and, unable to meet Douglas's eyes, came round from behind him and held out a hand. "Come on then," he said, trying to sound uninterested and impatient with the whole thing.

A small smile crept on to Douglas's face as he suddenly put the pieces of this particular jigsaw together: the flushed cheeks, the deliberate lack of eye contact, the feigned nonchalance. His mind skipped back thirty years to the time Phillipe had walked out of a Canadian river, water running off his glorious body, clothes clinging to his nut brown skin, hands rummaging through slick black hair and the jolt of lust that he'd felt watching his lover run towards him.

He knew he was no Phillipe. Hell, he wasn't even the same Douglas Richardson. He hadn't exactly run to fat, but he had no doubt his lean 27-year-old self would be horrified to see how thirty years could _solidify_ flesh.

Still, he hadn't lost all his Sky God powers, and he realised that he probably was quite the sight for sore eyes at the moment. If you ignored the wet socks, anyway.

He moved his arm so that Martin could grip the cuff and pull the sleeve off, and smirked a little as Martin tried to do all that without touching Douglas's skin.

"I don't have any communicable diseases, you know," he murmured.

Martin blushed pinker than ever, drawing Douglas's eye to those sculpted cheekbones, which in turn framed Martin's pale feline eyes.

"I didn't think that you did," he muttered, finally freeing Douglas's left arm from the jacket. Douglas pulled the rest of the cold wet fabric off and hung it on a hook.

Martin had almost made it to the door when Douglas turned back from the jacket.

"Hey, I thought you were supposed to be helping me?"

Martin turned, a puzzled frown crinkling his brow in a way that Douglas found equal parts amusing and adorable. "I'd have thought you could manage to unbutton a shirt, Douglas."

Douglas mimed inflexible fingers. "Ordinarily, yes. But the cold water in the pool has left my fingers quite numb. Would you mind?"

He watched Martin furiously considering how Douglas would use this to his advantage, clearly missing the obvious, before deciding that this was an occasion without an ulterior motive.

Martin recrossed the room and stood in front of Douglas, fingers twitching nervously, eyes on the knot of his first officer's slightly loosened tie.

"Shall I, um?" He nodded at the tie.

Douglas's baritone sank half a notch lower, his languid tone conjuring up a pool of arousal low in Martin's gut, "If Sir wouldn't mind..."

Martin's fingers reached for the dark blue knot of silky fabric, loosening and pulling at it until it came undone. His determination not to catch Douglas's eye, left the first officer free to admire his captain's creamy coloured skin, the constellation of freckles on his cheekbones - just visible against the furious flush, his long slender neck and those auburn tresses. It was all Douglas could do not to run his fingers through them.

Martin, struck mercifully dumb, was still standing toe to toe with him, rubbing the blue tie between his finger and thumb.

Douglas leaned just a shade forward and murmured, "Thank you." He pulled at one end of the tie, watching it slide slowly between Martin's fingers and the resultant, silent "Oh" forming on Martin's lips.

He dropped the tie on to the bench and said, "Would you mind?", gesturing to his shirt buttons.

Martin swallowed hard and nodded mutely. He stared at the wet fabric clinging to Douglas's chest, revealing the dark circles of his nipples and suggesting a triangle of chest hair trailing down to... He blinked, cleared his throat and said in a voice notably thicker than usual, "Where shall I, er...?"

Douglas quirked an eyebrow at him. "Wherever you like, Martin," he rumbled. He could feel the blood running into his cock now. He was already half-hard and with his trousers sticking to him as they were, it wouldn't be long before even Martin would notice. He couldn't see from here, but he was willing to bet that Martin's jeans were feeling a little tight around the groin area by now.

Martin's fingers reached up and started fumbling with the top button. Douglas tipped his chin up to let him have better access and he heard the softest of moans as Martin gazed at his exposed throat. He felt Martin's fingers brush occasionally across his skin and his cock twitched a little.

Finally Martin had the stiffest button undone and was working more quickly down the rest of the shirt front. He saw Martin pause as he reached the waistband of Douglas's trousers. No doubt his eye was caught by Douglas's erection. Douglas leaned close to Martin's ear. "Is there a problem, Captain?"

"Err, no, no, everything's fine," he stammered.

"Oh good," purred Douglas, "Dr Duncan would be most disappointed if he thought you'd been picking up Marvin's bad habits of indecision and insecurity."

Martin looked up at last and he narrowed his eyes, "Yes, god forbid I might be anything like Marvin," he said bitterly.

Douglas shook his head, twinkled his eyes and smiled, "I think that on some occasions, like now for instance, a little of Marvin's impulsivity might be just what's needed."

Martin chewed on his lower lip and stared at Douglas, his hands still gripping Douglas's wet shirt.

Douglas sighed. "I bet Colin Firth never had this trouble," he said and brought his hands up to Martin's cheeks. "Let me demonstrate how, sometimes, I-Know-Best can work to everybody's benefit."

He dipped his head and pressed his lips gently against Martin's. Martin startled away from him for a second, before leaning back in and returning the kiss. His warm plush lips pushed against Douglas's for a moment before they broke free and stared at each other.

Douglas ran a thumb along Martin's chin, "All right?"

Martin smiled a little, lopsidely and shy. He nodded.

"Well then," said Douglas, "Come here."

He kissed harder this time and felt Martin's tongue against his lips in reply. He smiled and fell deeper into the kiss, barely aware of Martin's hands, warm on his cold damp back pulling them closer together. He did feel when Martin started pulling the wet shirt out of his trousers though.

"I see Dougal's impatience is rubbing off on you," he murmured.

Martin gave him the look, the one he'd seen a hundred times in the flight deck.

"Actually Douglas, I was thinking that you might be suffering from Dougal's misplaced feelings of invulnerability. Standing around in cold wet clothes isn't very good for you."

Douglas shrugged. "You have control, Sir," he said and winked.

Martin ducked his head in embarrassment, finished pulling out Douglas's shirt and undid the last two buttons. He stood back to let Douglas take the shirt off. Douglas just smiled at him and didn't move a muscle.

"Douglas! You can take your own shirt off."

"I could," drawled Douglas, "but it would be much, much sexier if you took it off for me, don't you think?"

Martin eyed his first officer appraisingly, seemed to make a decision and stepped forward, newly confident. He placed his hands on Douglas's sternum, the skin cool to his touch and ran his hands over Douglas's chest, brushing against the hard nubs of nipple and sweeping up to his broad shoulders. He lifted the fabric away from the skin and tipped it down Douglas's back before dipping his head to flick his tongue against the left nipple.

Douglas drew in a sharp breath. Martin smiled and moved behind Douglas to pull the rest of the shirt away. Then he slid his arms around Douglas's waist to undo his belt buckle. Now it was Douglas's turn to let a small moan escape his lips. Martin placed a hot, wet kiss on Douglas's spine and continued to undo the trousers before sliding them down to the ankles.

Douglas kicked the wet fabric away and pulled off the soggy socks for good measure, before turning to look at Martin. The captain beckoned him closer and went up on his toes to kiss Douglas hard. He ran one hand into Douglas's damp hair and slid the other along his jaw. Douglas growled with pleasure and sank both his hands into Martin's coppery curls.

Martin was first to break free of the kiss, peppering Douglas's jaw, then throat, then collarbone with kisses. He ran a finger down Douglas's sternum to his belly button and then, more slowly, through the line of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers. The fabric was clinging wetly to Douglas's thighs and to his cock.

Martin eased the fabric down and felt a thrill, knowing Douglas was this aroused, this hard and wet just for him. He dropped carefully to his knees and ran a hand over Douglas's balls. The groan this produced made Martin's cock, trapped inside his jeans, harder than ever. He unzipped himself and let his own erection spring free.

He dipped forward and licked the pre-cum from the head of Douglas's cock.

"Christ!" hissed Douglas, slamming one hand on to the rail holding the clothes hooks.

"Hmm," hummed Martin, "who'd have thought the great Douglas Richardson was soooo sensitive?" He licked a stripe from the root to the tip and smiled at the indistinct growling and cursing this provoked, before opening his mouth and sliding his lips over the soft, musky-scented skin. He ran his tongue along the shaft and tasted more salty pre-cum on the base of his tongue. Slowly he drew back until barely the tip was held between his lips before plunging back as far as he could go.

Douglas growled with pleasure, looked down at the positively indecent sight of Martin's lips slipping along his cock and his hand stroking his own erection and felt himself weaken at the knees. "Martin, I'm going to..." he said.

Martin looked up at him, his pale eyes twinkling with pleasure. Simultaneously he slid just a little more of Douglas inside his mouth, ran his tongue slowly along the shaft and winked at his first officer.

Douglas groaned, his vision shot with explosions of white light as he came. He hung on to the rail for support as he came back to earth to find Martin solicitously cleaning his softening cock with his tongue, his shirt striped with his own cum. He slumped on to the bench and slid a hand into Martin's hair. "That was..." he said.

Martin, knees aching, pushed himself up on to the bench next to Douglas and looked expectantly at the older man.

Douglas found, possibly for the first time in his adult life, that he was short of words. He smiled at Martin and reached for an unexpected source of inspiration. "Martin," he said, "that was brilliant!"

**Author's Note:**

> For what it's worth, I believe Helena has already made _her_ confession by the time MJN go to Ipswich...


End file.
